Every Clime and Place
by Soul Reaver
Summary: A sort of continuation to Guns of October. Ivy's meddling aunt introduces her to a Marine recovering from his injuries sustained in the Solomons...
1. The Atoll

The Atoll  
  
Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego characters in this fanfic. You might want to read Guns of October to get a sense of this world wide war against a ruthless foe that threatens the earth. And be patient, I'll get to the ACME part of this shortly.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
And when he gets to heaven.  
  
St. Peter he will tell.  
  
Another Marine reporting sir.  
  
I've served my time in Hell.  
  
- Marine Corps marching cadence.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
With the blue green of its mountains and the even darker green of its jungles Guadalcanal might have been something out of a travel brochure. Faded greens and browns of its grassy plains and coconut groves added still more to the picturesque beauty of the Island - as the United Systems Marines came to call it in 2143.  
  
However, to the Marines, the Island was just an ugly perimeter, five miles long and three miles wide. The Solomon islands, lying just to the south of the Equator provided its Marine guests with a hot, humid, mosquito infested and muddy vision of hell interspersed with kunai grass as tall as a Marine and sharp as a K-bar, the standard Jarhead fighting knife, the two uses of which were vicious close in fights and opening cans.  
  
The latter of which was the venture of Private "Spud" Spudetsky, of Des Moines, Iowa. The short, round figured Marine was currently spearing chunks of canned fruit out of a tin.  
  
"Did you hear that?" Jim Stokely - Private Stokely of Mobile, Alabama - said, aiming his Lacrima-99 Pulse Rifle into the fog.  
  
Spud continued eating faster, determined to finish his snack for it could very well be his last. Guadalcanal was a tourist trap, alright, a land of foul, fetid swamps, humid jungles alive with insects as large as birds and even larger lizards and snakes. Crocodiles prowled the rivers and streams and swarms of mosquitoes flew about the Island, making life hellish with malaria and disease.  
  
The men who fought and survived Guadalcanal's countless clashes against the Foe, an indomitable adversary created by the Biohazard, would carry wounds and remnants of tropical diseases into further fighting, and for the lucky survivors, into a post-war civilian life. They would fight these battles again and again in fever tinged dreams. Some still do.  
  
On the morning of September 8, 2143, the 1st Battalion of the 3rd Marine Division went ashore. The enemy, which had taken over a small Army camp, fled post haste, thinking a major landing was underway, leaving valuable supplies to the Marines who could damn well use them.  
  
The Marines later re-embarked, sailing onto Lunga Point, pockets stuffed with rations and extra grenades. Upon their arrival the Marines were told that the Foe was on their way to them, hacking its way through the jungle with the intent of taking the airfield.  
  
Manpower was far too limited to maintain a continuous perimeter around the island, so all the Marines could do was guard the more obvious approaches to the airstrip while the Army continued to try to pacify the inland areas of the island.  
  
That was the bigger picture that was far from the mind of Corporal Gene Locksley of Orlando, Florida, sent in on September 12th to reinforce his fellow Marines at Lunga Point. None of the sergeants had made it off the landing craft and Lieutenant Barco had been killed the night before. It had taken a full five minutes since the Gollum's barbed projectile imbedded itself deep into his chest for Barco to die choking and gasping out orders. "Gene, h-hold this beach." were his dying words.  
  
"Yes sir." Locksley replied.  
  
With that, on September 13th, Corporal Gene Locksley was left in charge of his first command with orders to guard a godforsaken beach in the middle of nowhere with very little ammunition against a foe that did not know when to quit. His men were behind him, ducked behind rocks, fallen logs and the litter of warfare. That was what he knew and little else as the thick fog swirled around them.  
  
The fog was thick and ethereal; the sounds of footsteps seemed far away and very little could be seen by the defending Marines. It was as if the smoke and clouds from all the war's battles had been balled up and tossed onto Lunga Point. The sounds of boots across the sand, of gear clanking together, of breathing seemed far away, even though the men that made those sounds were but a few feet distant. Even the distant moan of zombies seemed far away, even though they were fairly close to the Marine positions.  
  
He sent a burst of voltage from his electric gun into the fog, hoping to God the lethal current had killed one of those creatures and not some poor Jarhead bastard that had gotten separated from his unit. That was not a good thing in these circumstances, considering the dismembered remains of the last Marine that had done so lay about five feet in front of his position.  
  
Locksley seemed to be firing forever, the solid state contact at the business end of his electric gun glowing white hot as it sent lethal voltage into the fog. Was this a dream? It sure as hell felt like one, the sort of dream where limbs feel mired in quicksand and where enemies move far too fast for the eye to follow. A zombie fell dead not more than eight feet away, the remains of its brain overridden by the massive jolt of electrical energy fired into it. And suddenly the dreamlike feeling of sloth that enveloped Locksley vanished as sharper shrieks penetrated the fog punctuated by more unearthly mewls of hunger for human flesh. Even more frighteningly several Gollums were shouting, "Die Marine!" as they advanced inexorably.  
  
Suddenly Locksley's perception sharpened as several ogres came charging the Marines out of the fog followed by several zombies and Gollums behind them. His electric gun burned down several of the creatures like chaff before the flames but the shiny flash of a lance flashed past his blind spot, much too late to react in time.  
  
The lance, however, did not strike him, it buried itself into the shoulder of Private Miles Hendon of Dover, England. At first Hendon didn't feel the impact, he was numbed with shock, but suddenly he screamed in agony as the ogre twisted the lance. The creature only twisted the thing partially before Locksley sent a burst of electricity into it's midsection at point blank range. The Gollum turned into a spray of red mist as the current sent it flying back into the fog from whence it came.  
  
Another scream ripped from the fog. It was Spud, clutching a forearm that spurted red blood onto his camouflaged sleeve as he dropped his destroyed and useless rifle to the ground. The kid, he was just a kid, was only eighteen years old yesterday.  
  
Stokely continued blasting his pulse rifle into the fog repeatedly towards the phantoms. The enemy had pulled back, but was it permanent or only temporary. And now Stokely's trigger clicked on an empty chamber as the bolt made a ping and stayed open, indicating that the weapon was empty of the sixty rounds in its clip.  
  
"Running outta ammo Gene! Gotta pull back!" Stokely shouted, his brown eyes going wide as he fished about his belt for another clip.  
  
Locksley hoped that none of the Gollums lurking in the fog understood English as he sprayed the mist with another short burst of electricity. He seemed to not hear Stokely over the electrical discharge but in reality he was ignoring the kid. They had their orders, didn't they, hold the damned beach. There was nothing ambiguous about it.  
  
"Jesus Christ Corporal, look the fuck around!" Stokely shouted, voice almost shrill and girlish.  
  
Reloading, Locksley took a glance around the position. Half a dozen scared, demoralized men walking amidst the corpses of their buddies and bunkmates with the occasional enemy corpse thrown within, the sand damp with their blood. The fog made it seem less real but no less horrible.  
  
Stokely was at his sleeve. "Shitcan this, Gene - lets get the fuck out. Nobody else needs to die."  
  
Locksley gave Stokely a hard look, glanced at the others, the handful of remaining men who stared at him with desperate eyes. He did his best to keep his face a stone mask.  
  
On his knees, as though praying, Spud held a hand now entirely slick and red with blood, tears cutting clear paths through the dirt and blood that covered his face, "Gene, I wanna go home."  
  
Who didn't want to go home in all this death, blood and noise? Babies all of them. They were all just babies thrown into the damn meat grinder after being violently dragged away from mommy's skirt. Feeling his jaw muscles tense, Locksley fired another burst of lethal electrical energy into the fog, making the demoralized men around him flinch.  
  
"We've got orders." Locksley replied, wishing to God that he wasn't the man in charge, wishing that this was some other poor bastard's decision, and not his own to make, "Hold the beachhead, they said, and that's what we're going to do!"  
  
"With what Gene!" Stokely shouted, "We're fucking almost out of ammo!"  
  
Locksley strode over to Spud, and the other Marines recoiled, fearing Locksley was going to knock him down. Instead, Locksley slapped his Springfield Armory XD pistol into Spud's good hand.  
  
"On your feet Marine! You've got a job to do!" As he swung around to the other men he shouted, "We all do!"  
  
Stokely and Hendon jumped back, afraid that Locksley would unleash the electric gun's destructive power on them.  
  
"Hold the God damn beach!" Locksley shouted intently.  
  
As if the enemy and not his own men heeded his advice another wave of creatures came crashing violently against the Marines' position. Locksley turned to see a loathsome tide of creatures charging violently across the sands towards him, some carrying stolen weapons and machetes, the latter of which the ogres and Gollums used to carve their way through the mangrove swamps. The six remaining marines opened fire, bayonets and rifle butts flashing in the fog as Locksley and his men, their ammo soon goon, fought the loathsome fiends with rifle butts and knives. When their knives got knocked from their grasps they fought it out, fist against blade and tooth.  
  
"God damn you Gene Locksley!!!" Stokely shouted with half sobbing agony, his white face streaked with blood from his lips, grabbing the front of Locksley's shirt with bloody hands as several crimson heads dragged him into the fog.  
  
Very soon Locksley could hear the sounds of the creatures devouring Stokely, feasting upon the Marine while he was still alive. He could hear his screams, piercing animal wails of agony that cut through the fog. Locksley threw his last grenade into the mist. The screaming stopped.  
  
Spud kept firing the pistol in his hand, emptying it into the tide of creatures, even throwing the empty weapon at a zombie's face just as a crimson head's sharp claws stabbed violently into his rib cage and through his heart.  
  
Locksley saw this and had no time left for regret or remorse, luckily he had just enough charge remaining in his weapon to share with the boy's killer. The electrical burst blasted a large hole through the crimson head and spilled more blood upon the jungle floor. Just then, Miles Hendon's body fell, cut in half, atop Spud's round framed corpse.  
  
As he took this all in, Locksley felt an impact against the side of his helmet. It was a crude explosive of some kind made out of a soup can with a few chunks of metal taped to it. He threw it back at the enemy, hoping to save any other living Marines, though he doubted there were any, and possibly himself. It was a lousy throw; Locksley never really had much of an arm for baseball. The grenade exploded less than a foot away and Locksley tumbled to the sand.  
  
The wind blew away the fog, but Locksley could not yet see the carnage racked terrain he and his men fought to hold. He could see a pool of blood forming in the sand beside his left ear. He could see Stokely's half eaten, half exploded corpse less than eight feet away. He noted with grim satisfaction that six crimson heads lay in various positions of death near the corpse. He could, however, see the platoon of Marines rushing towards their position, killing the remaining attackers.  
  
Soon Marines were moving amidst the men strewn about the sand like the toys of a sloppy child.  
  
Upon reaching Locksley a Marine shouted, "Hey Doc! This one's still moving!"  
  
"Corpsman up!" the platoon commander shouted.  
  
A Navy corpsman with the platoon raced towards Locksley and helped him up, "Tell me your name Marine."  
  
The corpsman was a boy, a seventeen year old Arab with olive brown skin and brown eyes, he stared intently at Locksley, trying to keep him conscious. "Where are you from?"  
  
"Gene Locksley. Orlando, Florida."  
  
"Hamid Karghouz. Cairo, Egypt." The Navy corpsman said as he wound bandages around the Marine's head, careful not to move him, for his neck could be broken.  
  
"Stretcher!" Karghouz shouted and two Marines appeared, helping Locksley, clinging to life as a shipwrecked sailor would to a piece of floating wreckage, onto it.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The field hospital was crowded with wounded Marines and sailors, a testimony to human suffering and misery. Orderlies, corpsmen, and doctors moved about constantly in the ordered chaos of combat triage. To his right, Gene Locksley saw a corpsman close the eyes of a young Marine, shot through the stomach by shards of metal. Two orderlies moved him from the cot and another wounded Marine was lain in his place.  
  
A tired man in his late thirties, the battalion surgeon, a fellow with eyes as gray as the Florida skyline before a thunderstorm, replaced fresh bandages around the wounded Marine's head. A loud shriek of agony from two beds over sent the doctor hurrying on his way.  
  
Grown men screamed and openly wept and no one thought any less of them for it. Gene Locksley turned his head slightly and looked into the gentle blue eyes of the wounded Marine beside him. The eyes were framed in a young face that did not have the beard stubble of most of the veteran Marines since puberty had barely passed.  
  
Babies, all of them babies, just like Spud, barely eighteen. The kid should have been hanging out a the mall, or watching war movies in the theater not lying six feet under ground in a shallow grave on some Godforsaken island.  
  
Locksley could hear a faint voice, "Gene, I wanna go home." Spud said.  
  
Either asleep or awake it didn't matter, he could still hear their voices, he could still hear their screams, he could still see their faces. Only now Stokely's face was replaced by a Marine major, his battalion commander. "Locksley, I hear you went above and beyond the call of duty at Lunga Point."  
  
"Yes sir." Locksley replied. As he replied, Major Enders put a medal into his palm. Gene Locksley stared at the Purple Heart in his hand, the award given to anyone wounded in action.  
  
"Gene, that's just a down payment. I'm putting you up for the Silver Star." Enders replied.  
  
Gene Locksley, for all the four years he had spent in the Marine Corps, had never thought a medal would feel this bad. He fell asleep wondering, "Is that how you win a medal by fighting for your life while you watch your friends die around you?" 


	2. Convalescence

Convalescence  
  
Disclaimer: Zack and Ivy's family members for the most part I made up, but only the family and Gene Locksley are my original creation, everything else belongs to DIC. I recall Darren being used as Zack and Ivy's surname so I use it here. Also Zack's parrot was something inspired by Shipwreck's bird in GI Joe and their little sisters and baby brother were inspired by Red Witch's characters in her fanfic Misfit Chronicles.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
October 2143: May Darren threaded through the halls of the Bayside Armed Forces Hospital overlooking the picturesque San Francisco Bay. She was about thirty years old, auburn haired with the sort of build one would find on a female gym instructor, long and slim yet muscular. She worked as a registered nurse at Saint Christopher's Children's Hospital until the war broke out in 2139 and, feeling fairly patriotic, she enlisted and was commissioned her services as a nurse to the US Army.  
  
She walked around on the porch, the one facing an open, grassy knoll atop a hill overlooking the bay. She knew that a particular patient spent a vast majority of his time up there. And sure enough, she was right. She saw a wheel chair facing the fresh breeze from the bay and in it sat Gene Locksley, wearing a brown robe over his pajama bottoms and an undershirt. Around his neck hung a pair of dog tags on a metal chain and bags hung under his eyes.  
  
"Not sleeping well, are we Gene?" May said, chirpily.  
  
"You should know by now to talk into my right ear, my left isn't working properly." Locksley replied.  
  
"I was talking into your right ear, smart guy." May replied, "What's bothering you?"  
  
"I need to go back." Gene replied.  
  
"Back to where? Back into combat?" May asked.  
  
"My fellow Marines are out there fighting and dying, and I need to be with them." Gene replied.  
  
"Gene, you have a perforated left ear drum, you can't even stand straight, let alone move properly." May replied.  
  
To this Gene Locksley stood up, shakily, damn near falling over his own feet. He caught himself on a nearby support beam and managed half a dozen shaky steps before May half carried him into his wheel chair.  
  
"So where are you going after this?" May asked.  
  
"If possible back into the field, but I'll settle for the No. 5 Barracks right next to the bay with the MPs. Maybe I'll hitch a ride over to the Pacific."  
  
"Gene you try that and I'll personally send my niece and nephew to hunt you down." May replied, as she went on about her rounds.  
  
As she did, she had half a mind to check out her patient's planned housing area after her shift ended.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
May Darren walked through the No. 5 Barracks and her opinion that the place was not fit for habitation was growing by the minute. The dry wall on the first floor was cracking, dirty laundry was strewn about the various barracks rooms, the offices were untidy and the walls were painted in that awful shade of brown that was enough to induce fits of depression.  
  
But it was the cockroaches that came flooding out of the drains in the barracks that made May Darren declare that no patient of hers was going to be billeted in as unhealthy, unsafe, and certainly unsanitary an environment such as No. 5 Barracks.  
  
"And you call yourselves Marines." She muttered, after chewing out the 2nd Lieutenant that was in charge of the barracks for letting the building be barely livable.  
  
May Darren cared about all of her patients but this one in particular was special. On the hospital ship from Guadalcanal he had actually attempted to sneak aboard the supply skimmer to get sent back to the Island. She had caught him before he even got out of his bunk because his step was so shaky. There was an indomitable fighting spirit in the man however, one that wouldn't let him give up. She only wished it would show itself in more constructive ways than trying to go AWOL when he could barely walk.  
  
Still, she had to admire his willpower, and his almost dogged loyalty to his fellow Marines. She in fact overheard him try to comfort a wounded Marine who had lost both of his legs at Guadalcanal. What he needed was a place where he could really heal, a family environment, a sort of home away from home. She immediately brightened and walked off to the nearest payphone.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"You heard correctly Corporal, you're being discharged from the hospital to a private residence." Corpsman Nathan Lin replied.  
  
"I don't know of any private residence here that I'm billeted to." Gene Locksley replied, now smartly attired in his working khakis, his garrison cover tucked under one arm.  
  
"I do." May Darren replied.  
  
"Ma'am?" Locksley replied, "Could you please explain why the address for my discharge is 3512 Steiner Avenue? I've never even heard of the place."  
  
"I have. Follow me Corporal." May Darren replied, in as business like a manner as possible.  
  
"Yes ma'am." A puzzled Gene Locksley replied. He had recovered enough to walk around on his own, but still could not hear out of his left ear.  
  
The car drove down a few winding side streets and stopped at a two story house with a large station wagon and a Jeep Wrangler in the parking lot. "Oh, my niece must be home."  
  
May opened the door and shouted, "Kids, come meet our guest."  
  
"Awk Polly want a Prozac! Call my doctor! Call my lawyer! They're insane!" a red Amazonian parrot came flying through the house and right over Locksley's head.  
  
Three little girls, about eleven years old, identically clad in pink t- shirts with black denim jeans ran after the parrot, they all had short blonde hair and blue eyes, "Come back here birdie!"  
  
They all stopped when they saw Gene Locksley for the first time. "Wow, are you in the Army?"  
  
Gene smiled, despite himself, "No I'm in the Marine Corps."  
  
"Isn't that part of the Army or something?" the triplets asked in unison. As Gene was to discover, the rambunctious triplets had an annoying tendency to speak in unison.  
  
"No." Gene replied, slightly miffed, but who could blame them, they were just three little girls.  
  
"I'm Toya."  
  
"I'm Trisha."  
  
"I'm Jade."  
  
"Will you three stop antagonizing our guest?" said a young woman from the top of a staircase.  
  
She was a slim red head in her early twenties, built almost like her aunt, but not as tall as her aunt's 6'1" and about even with Locksley's 5'8". "Ivy, I want you to meet our guest."  
  
Ivy smiled wryly and said, "Hi."  
  
"Hi, I'm Gene Locksley, United Systems Marine Corps." He said, shaking her hand.  
  
Just then, a blonde haired young man, about eighteen years old, walked into the kitchen wearing blue jeans and an olive green Army shirt with staff sergeant stripes on it.  
  
"Zack, meet our guest, Gene Locksley." May replied, as she turned to Gene she said, "And if I hear you say United Systems Marine Corps after your name again, I'll have you scrubbing latrines for a week."  
  
"Zack was in the Army for about a year in North Africa." Ivy replied, "Until they found out he could better serve in the Army Encryption Unit around here, then they sent him home."  
  
"What about you? Where did you serve?" Zack asked.  
  
Gene Locksley put his duffel bag down on the sofa and said, "I was all over the place, I was in China, Hong Kong, Hawaii......"  
  
His voice trailed off as he continued, "And finally Guadalcanal."  
  
"Well Gene, dinner's in half an hour, so in the mean time make yourself at home. Ivy, could you please show our guest his room." May replied.  
  
Gene picked up his duffel bag and followed Ivy up the staircase. "Are your sisters always this crazy?"  
  
"You have no idea. Imagine having three little sisters who have genius level IQ's but have the emotional level of...."  
  
BAM! A loud bang could be heard from downstairs that made Locksley jump to the floor and open his mouth, exhaling loudly as he covered his ears. "...You're average hyperactive preteen." Ivy continued as Locksley stood back up again, looking slightly sheepish.  
  
"Learned that at Guadalcanal." He replied, "What the hell was that?"  
  
"Probably the Triplets messing around with chemicals again." Ivy replied.  
  
"Ivy! I thought that you confiscated the Triplets chemistry lab." Mrs. Darren yelled from downstairs.  
  
"I did, mom! They must've got another one." Ivy replied.  
  
Suddenly a tiny blur crawled between Ivy's legs. Almost before anyone could react the blur raced towards the staircase. Gene Locksley caught the fast crawling toddler with ease. He handed the two year old to Ivy. The little baby looked at Gene with a puzzled face, "Gaaahhh?"  
  
"This is Claudius, my baby brother." Ivy said. As the baby wriggled his little hands, they grasped Gene's garrison cap.  
  
Ivy incredulously watched as Locksley took his cap, and put it on the toddler's head, "Now you look like a real leatherneck." Locksley grinned.  
  
"'neck." the baby said.  
  
"This is Gene." Ivy said.  
  
Gene smiled and shifted the weight of his duffel bag as he opened the door to a room Ivy indicated. The baby gurgled happily as Ivy put him in his playpen and handed Gene his cap.  
  
"Your room's over there." Ivy indicated.  
  
"Thanks." Gene Locksley replied.  
  
He closed the door and changed into a pair of blue jeans with a black USMC t-shirt. "You can take the man out of the Corps, but you can't take the Corps out of the man. Gunny, you sure hit the nail on the head with that one straightaway."  
  
He put on a pair of shoes and walked downstairs into the living room where Zack was watching the Discovery Channel. He took a look at the screen for a few moments and then realized what an exhausting day he had just had and fell asleep.  
  
Sleep did not bring the rest that he thought it would bring. Instead it brought about images of fog, a pervasive, creeping fog that muffled sound, blurred perception and merged past and present in a hideous mélange that invaded the very peace that Gene Locksley sought.  
  
Only the occasional gunshot penetrated the fog. In the fog he could see Marines, but it was impossible for the shit scared boys that eyed him were all dead. It was as if he were leading the march of the dead. Screams penetrated the fog, unearthly zombie moans punctuated this symphony of screams.  
  
Over the din a distinct sentence rose, shouted by one of the dying Marines, "God damn you Gene Locksley!!!!"  
  
Then suddenly a hand clamped over his shoulder. Gene Locksley's eyes opened with a start and he turned to see Ivy kneeling beside the couch, "Gene, dinner's ready." Gene Locksley got up, though he was awake he could still here the shooting and the screams of his fellow Marines, the brothers he was unable to rescue.  
  
"Gene I wanna go home." Spud said, as if his pleading lips were beside Gene Locksley's tortured right ear.  
  
This was the other battle Gene Locksley fought, the battle against his emotional wounds. It was a battle that he could never leave, for if he chose to forget it, who would remember those Marines who had died not for the United Systems or for Earth's safety but for the man next to them in the line. The only question was, would Gene Locksley win this fight? 


	3. Dinner and Bedtime at the Darren Househo...

Dinner and Bedtime at the Darren Household  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Gene Locksley sat at the table with the Darren family. He was sitting right beside Ivy to his left and the triplets to his right. "Gene, are you descended from Robin of Locksley?" they asked.  
  
"Yeah, are you related to Robin Hood?" Toya asked.  
  
"Robin Hood wasn't even real." Ivy said, "Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"Actually Ive, there are legends of an outlaw around the time of Richard III of England. Maybe Gene Locksley, USMC, is related to Robin of Locksley." Zack replied.  
  
"Actually Great Aunt Rahne believes we are descendents of Robin of Locksley." Gene replied, "Our family came from England in the mid twentieth century with only a few pounds and the old coat of arms to their name. There is a scroll at the base that reads 'Degi Appareo.' Which means live to serve. But nobody really knows where our family actually began."  
  
"Is that how you wound up in the Marines?" Mrs. Darren asked.  
  
"Kind of." Gene Locksley replied.  
  
"Baga Wheee!" Claudius shouted and threw a blob of applesauce across the table. Gene ducked just in time and the blob struck Zack full in the head.  
  
Gene laughed lightly, "I've lived through three little brothers, I kinda got used to that after a while."  
  
Meanwhile after dinner, "Ivy, could you get the dishes." Mrs. Darren said.  
  
"I'll help." Gene replied.  
  
The kitchen overlooked the front lawn and the road as Ivy dried the dishes and Gene washed them. As they did the local high school marching band was practicing its piece for its performance later that week. They were playing the Marine's Hymn. Ivy saw how Gene was practically in a trance, a tear unashamedly falling from his cheek.  
  
To Gene Locksley, just hearing that hymn filled his heart with a great swelling and longing for the camaraderie of his fellow Marines. He also remembered a moment in China three years ago. The Marines defending the city of Shanghai from a massive assault by the Biohazard forces had been ordered to pull out after a long and particularly bloody battle.........  
  
2140: Private First Class Gene Locksley, barely nineteen years old, fired off another burst of electricity down range at a pair of zombies that were trying to get into the perimeter the Marine garrison had created around Shanghai to provide for the evacuation of the civilians and hundreds of wounded sailors, soldiers, airmen and Marines. The enemy withdrew after the Marines gunned down a few more of their number and were regrouping for a final assault when the call came in to the Marines to withdraw.  
  
"There they go, the last of the boats!" Lieutenant Barco shouted. He was a dark haired, lanky fellow fresh out of OCS. "Marines we are leaving!"  
  
"I'll be back!" Stokely shouted and fired three more rounds from his clip and his rifle pinged empty yet again as the Marines marched towards the last vessels that formed their evacuation.  
  
Several minefields in Shanghai had been set to deter pursuit and the Marines marched in an orderly column to the docks, rear elements fighting occasionally to deter leading elements.  
  
As the column marched across the destroyed city littered with the bodies of the infected zombies, the Marines refused to leave behind their dead or wounded who were carried out in stretchers in the middle of the column. "Alright men, stand tall and walk proud!" an unknown Marine shouted, "We're Marines, so lets look like it."  
  
"From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli." came the words from a man somewhere in the column.  
  
The words spread on to the other Marines in the column of Shanghai's last defenders. The dispirited soldiers of the 12th Chinese Infantry Division looked on as the Marines held their heads high and proud, despite the fact that Shanghai was lost. The Chinese soldiers, some of whom barely could understand English, fought with still more courage when it was their turn to be the rear guard when they saw the spirit of the Marines.  
  
Gene Locksley, the tough cut up from Orlando, Florida, the rough housing tough kid who got into numerous fist fights in high school, wept unashamedly at the words. Miles Hendon, the unit's wisecracking leatherneck, also had tears in his eyes. Almost every Marine in the column was overwhelmed with emotion from the words of his alma mater, where the lessons were learned upon the battlefield and not in the classroom, it was hymn rife with tradition forged in the flame of war and tinted with the red of blood.  
  
"Gene?" Ivy said, "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," Gene said, smiling weakly, "Just hearing the band play the Hymn made me proud to be a Marine. It's just something I can't really put to words."  
  
Ivy put an arm around Gene's shoulder as a comforting gesture, she couldn't find the words to empathize with the battle toughened leatherneck's communion with the Great Beyond.  
  
To Gene just hearing the notes of the Marine's Hymn kept him spellbound. The drummer put the last roll of the beat and the band marched off in the distance. Just then the spell was broken and Gene Locksley, despite the dull ache in his left ear, felt a spring in his step.  
  
For a brief few moments, Gene Locksley couldn't hear Stokely screaming his own hymn, "God damn you Gene Locksley!"  
  
Almost for a brief moment he saw several figures standing in the lawn, still with their full fatigues and combat gear. For the brevity of the song he could see Stokely, Hendon, Spudetsky, and Barco. But the image faded almost as quickly as it had appeared.  
  
"When I joined the Marines four years ago, it was because a judge told me that I had a choice, go to the county lockup or the military." Gene confessed, "I had no idea how much the Marines grew on me."  
  
"What did you get into trouble for?" Ivy said.  
  
"I got it for beating up some punk kid who threw rocks at my aunt's shop. I got hauled before the judge on assault and battery charges. Turns out I beat up the district attorney's kid." Gene replied, "Within twenty-four hours of my court hearing I had signed my paperwork, with my Dad's permission to become a Marine. After slugging it out through twelve weeks of boot camp I graduated finally. I could see the pride on the faces of mom and dad after I walked off the parade deck on graduation. For the first time I did something right with my life. Dad wondered when I'd become more than a kid who got into God knows how many fights in high school."  
  
"I don't think I would recognize the 'old' you." Ivy remarked.  
  
"I don't think I'd recognize the old me either." Gene replied.  
  
"I'm serious, looking at you now makes it hard to believe that you did such a thing." Ivy said.  
  
"I guess the Marine Corps and my old DIs channeled the energy for me. I couldn't exactly go traipsing through the barracks getting into fistfights when gunny was having me do pull-ups, pushups, mountain climbers and parallel dips in God knows how many reps. I got the good end of the deal with a first class PFT (Physical Fitness Test), I got 275 points out of a possible 300." Gene replied.  
  
"DI?" Ivy asked.  
  
"A Drill Instructor is easily the most terrifying sight in the US Marine Corps." Gene replied, "And gunny was the most senior of them."  
  
"Well if you want a challenge," Ivy smiled, "Try working out with me."  
  
"Let me guess, those trophies all around the house are yours." Gene replied.  
  
Ivy smiled again in reply, "I do have a black belt in several different martial arts. So are you in?"  
  
"Leave it to the Marines." Gene replied.  
  
"Well then, meet me out here at 6 o'clock sharp. I'd love to work out with someone who can keep up with me." Ivy said mischievously, "Did you do any martial arts training?"  
  
"Aside from hand to hand which is a blend of aikido, jujitsu and plain raw courage that I learned at Parris Island, some dirty fighting tricks from one salty old 1st Sergeant, and what I picked up from my days as a roughneck in Orlando, nothing really impressive." Gene replied.  
  
"Well, I could use someone to spar with. My old sparring partner's on a mission right now." Ivy replied.  
  
"Are you crazy?" Zack said.  
  
"I could use the challenge." Gene replied.  
  
"She'll have you out cold in three seconds flat." Zack warned.  
  
"What the hell else am I gonna do around here other than scut work as an MP." Gene replied.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Night came again, the entire household was asleep. Well almost the entire household. One Marine was still awake well past midnight after three hours of tossing and turning in bed, not truly asleep but not truly awake either, like the zombified enemy he fought on the Solomons which was not dead but not truly alive either.  
  
The fog filled the house, thick as pea soup. Gene Locksley could hear still more gunshots, screams, and as he walked into the hallway he saw Marines fighting in the hallway with rifle butts and fighting knives at close range. Gene fired burst after burst from his electric gun into the ranks of zombies closing with the Marines, but they kept coming and slaughtering the defenders.  
  
A voice rose above the din and smoke of battle, "God damn you Gene Locksley! God damn you! God damn you!"  
  
"Can't you see I wanted to go home?" said another voice, he turned to see the face of Spud Spudetsky, an eighteen-year-old face with the eyes of an old man, "I had my whole life ahead of me."  
  
"I hope those orders were worth our lives Gene Locksley!" said Miles Hendon.  
  
"We could've gotten out Gene!" Stokely shouted, "All you had to do was tell us and we would've followed you to Hell and back. Well congratulations, we're in Hell but we're not coming back!"  
  
Gene Locksley snapped awake, the nightmares again. The dreams of the combat zone that never left his mind's eye were back again. The guilt of being the only man left alive on a Godforsaken beach he didn't particularly need or want. He had orders to hold it, why couldn't those guys, his best friends in the entire world, understand it. More importantly, why did he sacrifice their lives? Because of orders? That wasn't good enough to satisfy his conscience, to clean it of the fact that by following a dying man's orders he had sent five Marines to their deaths.  
  
Those five Marines were his best friends and with trembling hands Gene Locksley removed a rumpled picture from the pocket of his uniform. There were the six of them posing in front of their barracks in New Guinea before the fateful day on Lunga Point. They all seemed so peaceful and free of all cares, young men imbued with the feelings of indestructibility inherent to youth. All six of those men found out they were not indestructible on September 13, 2143. And one of those six men was trying unsuccessfully to find a moment's peace in bed. 


End file.
